Captured
by Jubalii
Summary: A vengeful Austria finally gets his hands on Hungary with the intent on carrying her back to Holy Rome's house as his servant, but not before putting the tomboyish country in her place. (oneshot)


He threw her on the ground roughly. Her beret fell from her hair and sat in the dust not far away. He stood over her, eyes roving over her body before bending down on one knee beside her legs. She coughed, glaring up at him with a half-snarl. Even defeated, she still fought him.

He'd won this time; the tomboyish maiden wouldn't get the best of him anymore. She may have beaten him to a bloody pulp in the past and send him packing with a swift kick of her boot, but no longer would she be the dominating one. The tables had finally turned in his favor.

Half of him protested that what he meant to do was wrong—he was a gentleman, she a lady. He had no right to domineer her like she was nothing more than a piece of trash to punt around. But the other half, the prideful half that had been broken time and time again by countless defeats, cheered him on. He was straddling the fence between them, moving from warm gentleness to cold indifference faster than his brain could keep up.

"Well, well, well… Hungary, how does it feel to have the tides turned? I must say, my side of things just happens to be looking quite lovely," he sneered, his deep-bred haughtiness finally showing itself. He looked her over again, not missing the slight flush that crept up her neck as she "mistook" his meaning.

"You pervert! You're just angry because you had to cheat your way to victory!" she accused. Her angry words trailed off in a pained hiss as he jerked her face to his, one hand fisted in her long hair.

"Do not accuse me of cheating again. I will only warn you once. You're mine now, Hungary. Like it or not, you'll be doing my bidding from now on." Her angry visage turned to shock for a terse moment before she grinned savagely.

"Don't bet on it. I'm part of the Holy Roman Empire now; you have no power over me." He smiled coldly, his hand tightening in her hair and producing another muffled grunt of pain from the female at his feet.

"Yes, but Holy Rome lives in my house, so you'll still be under _my _authority. Get used to it, _mein sch__ätze._" She scowled up at him and tried to evade his hold, only to be secured more firmly as he knelt between her legs, one knee pressing her thigh. She winced as her movements only caused more pain and finally stilled under him.

"You may rule me, but you'll never own me," she vowed. He rolled his eyes at her dramatics, pulling her face up close and grabbing her chin. He let go of her hair and they stared at each other, her face puckered slightly by his tight grasp.

"Care to bet on that?" he simpered, coming nose to nose with her. She knew better than to answer, her eyes saying everything for her. She was a smart girl, this Hungary. With a little patience, he could mold her into a perfect servant, a perfect young lady. He opened his mouth to let out a very uncharacteristic cackle of victorious laughter, sounding more like Prussia than himself.

It was a complete surprise when her mouth covered his, the force of her tackle knocking him back on his heels as she kissed him roughly. He felt her legs scramble to gain purchase on the dirt floor of the tent and he flipped her over quickly, pinning her back to the ground.

"You'll pay for that," he snarled as he broke away and leaned over her, not bothering to tell her that he was angrier about the dust on his uniform than he was about the attempted escape. She scoffed and he found himself kissing her again, his fingers forcing her jaw to open and thrusting his tongue inside.

If anything, his crude manners only made her respond more so. She yanked at his hair, her legs tangling with his as she writhed against him. Her hand brushed his mole and he groaned, feeling her smile against his teeth. She dragged her nails lightly across the beauty mark and he shivered, his hand tugging her belt loose and pulling her shirt from its hold. He moved to her neck as his hands crawled up her ribs to her breasts, listening to her answering moan with a smug sense of satisfaction.

"Master Austria? Master Austria!" He lifted his head from her neck and she twisted in his grasp, both of them looking at the entrance to the tent. He pushed himself off her, giving her a warning glare and helping her fix her jacket as his captain walked in. "Master Austria; Holy Rome requests an update on your exploits."

"Ah, of course he does," Austria replied, proud of how his voice didn't shake in the slightest. "Please send a convoy with a message that I'll be home very soon, and with some new spoils." The man saluted and left the tent. The two slumped slightly and he turned to look with a new eye on the slightly disheveled woman before him.

"Don't you dare try to run off," he warned her. "Or I'll make it all the worse for you." And to his surprise, she never did.


End file.
